


tell me i'm exceptional and i promise to exploit you

by firelordazulas



Category: Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: F/F, okay danceny is a woman who's a Massive lesbian, this is like the gayest thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 15:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7646212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelordazulas/pseuds/firelordazulas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The game is poker, of course; the cards heavy and ornate. You think them tacky, but you allow the Madame her illusion of wealth. This is one of the nights Cecile has fallen asleep almost immediately upon entering the parlour. Her dress is spilt over the chaise lounge, the diamonds her mother gave her glittering around her neck. You think of how the stones tether her here, to the people in this room, to the very cushions she slumbers upon. You almost pity her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me i'm exceptional and i promise to exploit you

**Author's Note:**

> okay the title is from pedestrian at best - courtney barnett. so danceny is a woman who's a massive lesbian basically erm yeah thats like all you need 2 know 4 this fic.

You fan your cards to hide your face. The Madame de Volanges is used to your shady behaviour when it comes to card games - your lack of trust is almost a shared joke by now. The game is poker, of course; the cards heavy and ornate. You think them tacky, but you allow the Madame her illusion of wealth. This is one of the nights Cecile has fallen asleep almost immediately upon entering the parlour. Her dress is spilt over the chaise lounge, the diamonds her mother gave her glittering around her neck. You think of how the stones tether her here, to the people in this room, to the very cushions she slumbers upon. You almost pity her. Instead, you think of the variety of ways you could manage to leave the house with the diamonds in your possession without the lamb ever even noticing. You smirk quietly, lips hidden behind your cards, the attention drawn away from eyes as you gaze upon the column of the girls’ throat. She is pretty, you’ll give the creature that. You’re surprisingly intrigued you realise, as you narrow your eyes at your cards and pretend to be interested - you already know you’re going to be fold at the last minute. 

A plan is beginning to form. Once the game is finished you will point out that she’s asleep and offer to accompany her to bed. On the way, you will contrive some sort of distraction. You will steal the diamonds. 

Just for the hell of it. And, well, you do find the thought of possessing that which collared her slightly… Mesmerising. 

In her rooms, you tell her you will act as her maid tonight. You undress her. You unpin her hair. Lastly, you take the necklace from her neck. With delicate fingers you trace her collarbones, the line of her jaw, until you wrap a hand entirely around her throat. You don’t apply any pressure, your hand just resting there warm as you obviously appraise her in the mirror. Her breathing is fast and shallow, her eyes darting. Once you are sure she’s looking anywhere but at you, you pocket the jewels. 

“Goodnight, my darling,” you whisper into her ear, and then you withdraw without a backwards glance. You know she will be staring after you. 

 

You take the diamonds with you every time you see Cecile. You endure her childish worries and frets about what her mother will think, if she’ll notice the necklace is gone, what Cecile is to tell her when she does. The poor girl doesn’t even think to suspect you, bless her heart, and you make the most of her naivety. 

 

The conversation goes something like this:

“Well, I suppose the logical place to start is where did you last see it?”

“I - I usually make sure to put it in my jewellery box as soon as I get to my room at night but I didn’t check this time ”

“How terribly careless of you.”

“You were - you were distracting me.”

“Oh?” You raise a singular eyebrow. “Whatever do you mean? How about, you imagine I’m your mother, and try and explain that to me - to her.”

She gaped and gulped and cast about for some kind of answer. “I - well - you very well know exactly what I mean!”

“But your mother won’t, will she, dear? And how will you explain last night?”

“I - I - you -” she continued gaping and stuttering.

You turned to check your lipstick in the mirror on her dresser, the same one from last night. “Yes, darling, that’s rather what I thought. Don’t worry yourself! I’m sure they’ll turn up, and if they don’t, just tell your mother the truth; that you’ve misplaced them, and that you’re very sorry, and won’t she please forgive you?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Yes, I am rather, but you make it much too easy.”

The girl pouted but didn’t look too overly put out. You stroked one of the cold stones in your pocket. 

 

You do not tell Valmont about your little theft, or the game you are playing with Cecile. Oh, you bait him, and tell him that she’s surprisingly interesting, tell him you’re taking her under your wing, but you don’t tell him even close to the full extent of your schemes. Not even you know how far you’re going to go with the girl just yet. 

 

Everything is going smoothly. Cecile is in love with you but oblivious; she relies on you for everything, including her contact with Danceny. You don’t exactly mean for it to happen as it does but soon every time she thinks of Danceny and the feelings the music teacher inspires, she also thinks of you. You are always present when the two meet. They are courteous and slightly scared and only ever hold hands, which Cecile always has to initiate as Danceny blushes and splutters about boundaries. Cecile seems desperate to move on in their relationship. Danceny seems too busy waxing lyrical about the exact shade of Cecile’s hair (through an overuse of metaphor) to even notice, bless her, even as Cecile becomes more overt in her wanting of Danceny’s attention. Yes, Danceny is the one who is first to call attention to her love for Cecile (through the frankly adorable medium of notes trapped in harp strings) but since that first bold move Danceny seems trapped within her own misgivings. 

Of course, how is Danceny supposed to know that she is definitely not Cecile’s first girlfriend? The girl seems so young, but she’s been sure of herself since she was about 14, even if she still can’t tell her mother about it. 

 

“Isabelle, I - well, I think I’ve fallen in love.”

You’d just laughed, a throaty chuckle with your head thrown back. “Oh, and I’m sure the fellow is highly inappropriate, hmm? Someone your mother would  _ never  _ approve of.”

“Ah, but, you see, the thing is, it’s… It’s not a man.”

“Oh. Oh!” She’d actually managed to shock you, the darling girl, and you gripped her hand, hard but not enough to bruise. “Oh my dear, is this your first interest in a woman?”

“No, no it isn’t. I meant to tell you! But I didn’t know how to bring it up, or if you were against it, or if you’d look at me differently, and I didn’t want to lose you-”

“Darling, my god, I’d never abandon you, and of course I wouldn’t for something like this! Does your mother know?”

She’d scoffed. “Of course not, she’d either disown me or pretend it wasn’t happening, and unfortunately I need her money to live.”

“Yes, I can imagine that would be rather problematic.”

“You’re the first adult I’ve told.”

You cupped a hand to her cheek and leant in close to her. “Oh, darling, I’m the last person you have to worry about. I promise.”

There were tears welling in her eyes, and she’d closed her eyes and leant into your hand. “Oh, Isabelle, I’m so lucky to have you.”

“Nonsense, my Cecile! I’m lucky to have you.” You’d held her gaze intensely for a few seconds, and then kissed her cheek and left, as was your preferred modus operandi. The doing something dramatic and leaving straight after thing was probably becoming a little tired, but you couldn’t help it when her stuttering and pouting was so delicious. 

 

Danceny’s addition to the mix is surprisingly beneficial. It gives you another excuse to see Cecile as often as you do, to facilitate the contact between the two of them and make them so adorably  _ thankful.  _ It’s the most fun you’ve had with the Game in years, if you’re honest with yourself, but there’s nothing like the rush of interest in a woman - and these two women have rather bewitched you, you have to admit. Danceny had crept up on you. You’re no stranger to less… Conventional arrangements when it comes to relationships, but you hadn’t expected her to interest you at all. She was so scared all the time, such a worrier, so concerned with boundaries - all the things that usually bored you in a person. There a quality about her, a daring, a hidden recklessness that endeared her to you, just as Cecile’s ability to surprise you had drawn you to her in the first place. 

 

There’d been this necklace that Danceny had always worn (a cross of all the things) and on the second time of meeting her you’d decided you were going to have it. This required a simple plan, one very last similar to what you used on Cecile: you’d distract her, probably with a kiss, or maybe with Cecile herself, and you’d take it without her ever noticing.

To begin with, you offered to walk her to the door, in a gentlemanly and not overly suspicious manner. Danceny had, naturally, been delighted, and talked animatedly about her love for Cecile - quietly, however, and you had to admit that her discretion made her all the more attractive to you. It also gave you an excuse to lean your head very close to her, to act like you needed to be near to hear, to lay a hand on her shoulder and just generally intimidate her by crowding into her space. The two of you had reached the door like this. By that time, she was red and stuttering - you could practically feel the heat from her cheeks - and you were perfectly poised, not a hair out of place. As previously discussed, Cecile had then rushed around the corner, her cheeks also flushed, hair everywhere and skirts ruffled.

The happy couple had clasped hands very dramatically and while they were staring into each others eyes you’d remained hovering within Danceny’s personal space. You’d laid a hand upon her shoulder, which had then drifted up to her neck, lightly stroking the thin chain. Danceny’s eyes flickered between you and Cecile. She was rendered mute. Without a word you’d leant down to kiss her cheek, soft and lingering, and stolen the necklace while she was too dazed to notice or say a word. 

Or so you thought, until she leant in close to kiss your other cheek in a surprisingly brazen move, and whispered, “If you wanted something from me you could have just asked.”

And you’d blushed. You, the Marquise de Merteuil, had  _ blushed.  _ Danceny, however, had then immediately gone red as she’d realised just how such a line could be taken, and you’d chuckled, deep and throaty. She was so unbearably  _ sweet. _

With a sigh, you’d stroked the now bare skin at the base of her throat. “Go home, Miss Danceny. Madame de Volanges will be wondering where we are.”

Cecile and Danceny seemed to finally remember that they were holding hands still, like young lovers whose adult companion who has allowed them a supervised visitation - except it felt nothing like such a thing. It felt as if this was natural, them being together as you flirted and favoured one over the other. 

Both girls were very red in the face as Danceny very properly kissed Cecile’s hand and nearly ran out the front door. You were smirking as you turned back to face Cecile, Danceny’s cross slipping into your pocket to join its partner - the diamonds. 

“Come, darling, we must get back to your mother.” You’d laced your fingers through hers and drawn her away from the door.

 

Danceny knowing about your little theft doesn’t bother you. There is no doubt in your mind that she will piece together Cecile’s missing necklace and your deft fingers, but it’s not likely to arouse any sort of negative emotion in either of their couple - they are more likely to take it as the final proof of your feelings. It continues much like this for a month, with the two of them growing closer to each other and also to you. They’ve become an expected and surprisingly cherished part of your daily routine; seeing them somehow brightens your day. It’s awfully too close to  _ romance  _ for you. In an attempt to create distance, you draw up a plan of ways to avoid them, plan whose parties you can go to, which brunches you can allow yourself to be present at, little things like that - the trouble is, you can’t force yourself to actually put any of these strategies into action. Instead you hunt for any scarce reason to see them, for any reason to touch them, to make them blush. There is a tension in the air. The three of you know of each other's feelings but there’s that sizzle of knowing, the excitement of when and if the first move will happen, and who will make it. You’re sure you could discreetly return their possessions and that would be the end of it. That would be the responsible thing to do, but you’ve never been very responsible, not when you know you can get away with it. 

 

The first move happens at a night at the opera. It isn’t subtle. The two girls show up to your private box wearing matching tight chokers made of black satin, fastened with a pearl. It feels like a gauntlet thrown. They bracket you, Cecile on your right, Danceny on your left, and for the most part they talk around you. You can tell from Cecile’s shaking that she is nervous, but you refuse to address it. Let them mention it. Silence is the best tool against those who are guilty. You give them the until the interval, but when they don’t appear to want to do anything about it you loudly announce that you’re going to the bathroom. 

Their necklaces are in your pocket; you’ve taken to carrying them with you always in some foolish display of sentimentality. You fasten both around your neck, the diamonds tight to your throat, the delicate cross just below it. It looks good, you have to admit; you’re sure they’ll think it looks even better than you do.

The two of them don’t obviously turn when you re-enter to take your seat, but you can still hear their quick intakes of breath as they obviously side-eye you. Cecile’s hand seems to reach up for your neck without her permission until she snatches it back. When you sit down they refuse to look at you, so you decide to take matters into your hands.

You finger the material of Cecile’s choker, consider the material. “So, darling, where on Earth did you get this fetching thing? Is that satin?” You keep your hand on Cecile’s neck but turn to Danceny, who you wrap an arm around. “Oh, and you too dear, of course.”

“Well, we thought it’d be nice to find new necklaces to wear seeing as you currently have - possession of our old ones.” Cecile is surprisingly brave in her speaking up. The finger that strokes along the skin just hidden beneath the diamonds is even more surprising, and then Danceny is following her lead and tracing the path of the delicate silver chain that the gross lies upon. 

“You should have just asked me for replacements, or for them back, if it was a problem. I’d have been glad to have an excuse to buy you both pretty things.”

Danceny takes over from Cecile by grasping your chin and turning you to face her. “Would you like that? Buying us pretty things?”

“Why of course, I love any excuse to buy jewellery, particularly for two such pretty women who happen to be very, very close friends of mine.”

Cecile’s pout is almost audible, “Is that all we are? Pretty friends?”

“Well I don’t know my dear, I didn’t realise there was anything else on offer.”

She actually scoffed and you found yourself chuckling at her daring. “Oh, as if!” In one of those still surprising but almost trademarked moves, Cecile dove forward and placed a kiss on the naked curve of your shoulder, murmuring, “I don’t want to ruin both of our lipstick - we probably shouldn’t be that obvious.”

You find yourself burying a hand in her hair as the other roughly grasps her chin, jerking her head up. “Fuck that.”

Then you’re kissing her, right there at the opera where literally anyone could look up and see you. Danceny lurks behind you like a malignant shadow. Panting slightly, you grab her and kiss her, too, one hand still on Cecile’s neck, fingers under the tight black band. 

“We should probably - should probably go. Before anyone notices. Or anything.” Cecile murmurs faintly.

She’s right, so the three of you get up to leave. You don’t bother to move your hands from their hips - you’d only manage to get through the first 10 minutes of whatever opera this is. You can’t even remember now. All you can think about is the pounding of your heart, the feeling of the diamonds around your neck, the look of a woman’s hips. Cecile hides her face in your neck as Danceny tries to force you to move faster - you think this is maybe what love is like.

 

It won’t last. 

**Author's Note:**

> so basically i want 2 write a con artist au and thats why merteuil is goin round stealin shit like it totally makes sense or like ??? smth ??? anyway there was a logical progression of thought here probably


End file.
